


Eastern Wind

by sajakputih



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Atsumu compares Hinata Shouyou to all things terrible and divine, Enemies to Lovers, Granblue Alternate Universe, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajakputih/pseuds/sajakputih
Summary: Purity dances at the tip of a burning blade. To the delight of an exultant heretic, Atsumu, hunger has begun to scorch Shouyou's eyes. With his sword raised, the heretic watches as the unbearable desire that dragged gods to the path of destruction slowly enrobes judgment's flesh.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Eastern Wind

Judgment descends with the eastern winds, his right hand brandishing a burning sword, his left hand cradling a windblown bloom. 

Starlight spills forth from the wine cup of heavens, reborn triumphantly into judgment’s pure white sleeves, cascading like sea-born waves over sanguine flowers and the surging reverence of a pliant, once immovable earth. The flutterings of a star-gifted fabric are the simple invocation of harmony—the tranquility that tempers chaos—delicately graceful in its weightlessness. 

Yet the guise of peace is but a faint, momentary veneer. 

An assassin stands before the pure white robe of judgment, and the terrifying sublimity within the brown-eyed gaze of Hinata Shouyou. What was an emblem of serenity now coils sinisterly against torrential flames around steel, tongues of fire hungrily feasting upon the air, like the foreboding, rolling clouds of a tempest.

Do not ask why Atsumu, this poor, humble man—whose illustrious proficiency in assassination immortalized him as the beacon of vengeance and the ire of justice—stands under judgment’s call once again. Though the assassin suspects that he is no longer simply an enemy in Shouyou’s eyes: Atsumu is now the secret sanctuary where Shouyou could fight with his birthright: the untamed, sacred omnipotence of nature, unrestrained by the contemporary codes of temperance. 

Atsumu smirks in satisfaction, knowing that he is the only man that has discovered—and entertained—the monstrosity beneath deceitful purity. Lifting his chin in utter confidence for his triumph, Atsumu then languidly places his hand on his blade as he waits for judgment’s beckon. In return for playing with fire, the assassin would never have to worry about a dull fight.

What a shame that poor Shouyou has to hide his true nature for appearance’s sake. But here, the assassin and the glorious judge could proudly bare their teeth through a grin, maddened by anticipation, sharpened by arrogance. 

Ashes fall where hellfire danced in the air. The wind slyly parts Shouyou’s robe as he walks like a god reborn, revealing exactly where paradise’s wrath was reborn—the writhing muscles of judgment’s sun-kissed thighs.

“Draw your sword, Miya-san.”

Ah, what a charming decorum, as expected from Shouyou dearest! Although the heretic would have preferred to worship Shouyou’s thighs, Atsumu rushes to the sunlit warrior, his blade raised high that the sun’s vicious light reflects along its length. Incredible weightlessness upon his steps left the flowers beneath unmarred, though they shudder fearfully from the man-made gale.

A sword strikes down with the might of the titans, swung in the purest of ecstasies that led men toward the path of sin. The burning sword of justice meets it halfway to clash their blades with furor, rupturing the earth beneath, tearing every flower from its bud. With the red rain of petals, their bodies beautifully eclipsed each other, their frenzied glee rising in unison.

Right swing, a wide breadth of fire, a quick evasion to stab from behind. With every motion, faster and more vicious than before, the earth beneath succumbs to ruination. Atsumu then notices the flower still entrapped between Shouyou's fingers, struggling to maintain its delicate beauty in their deadly tempest. A sleight of his hand allows Atsumu to effortlessly pluck the flower in Shouyou’s left hand, and with a powerful jump that left him airborne, Atsumu gently tucks the flower behind Shouyou’s ear.

Silence survives through their small apocalypse and thrives in the brief lull that follows. With great hunger, stillness consumed the ruined landscape, though only after Atsumu has made his soundless landing in fear for its eradication. Shouyou gazes at Atsumu, wide-eyed and innocent, a burning sword in his right hand, a windblown bloom perched on his delicate ear.

Should fire and brimstone rain upon the heretic by the grey, ever-ambiguous decrees of virtue, then let him burn—Atsumu has found paradise in Shouyou’s beautiful strength. “How pretty.” He wonders if one day, he could gift Shouyou a flower without the presence of a sword.

The death of quietude was ordained by Shouyou’s bell-like laughter, light and airy and bright. The judge smiles and reaches for the flower, tucking it deeper to secure its place. The image burns a searing heat across Atsumu’s chest—

“Now I feel terrible about my gift.”

—because Shouyou’s sword had somehow slashed him. As his eyes wide in utter disbelief, Atsumu jumps back to assess his wound while conjuring hypotheses of _when_ and _how_ Shouyou’s sword had reached him. Based on its shallowness, the assassin concludes that his wound is merely a salutation, a playful joke. Angered, though begrudgingly impressed, Atsumu inwardly swears he will receive just retribution for this humiliation. With insult in his eyes and a jeering chuckle by his tongue, Atsumu seeks for Shouyou’s gaze once more to resume their waltz.

What the heretic sees instead is an image of hell. 

Hell is the sweet, _sweet_ smile of a judge unmarred by death, his graceful form unblemished by the scorching of the earth. It is the valley between judgment’s chest, its slow rise and fall, the strained folds of fabric around his chest that cascades down to his small waist. It is the blood moons cast by the burning sword, enthroned in gruesome radiance upon Shouyou's eyes that starve for an ugly, grotesque, glorious fight until one of them is half-dead.

Destruction is the most terrifying and sublime creation. Only hell, reborn into Hinata Shouyou, could naturally cradle such a divine dichotomy bestowed by the primordial gods. 

Atsumu could only smile wider in deranged excitement, his hands trembling in riotous rapture as he grips his sword tighter. Well now, who is the mortal, who is merely a man, who is the judge of justice, and who is the harbinger of chaos between them?

“You tend to stare a lot, Miya-san. Please be more careful,” A saccharine glaze deluged Shouyou’s voice, yet the wild excitement in his eyes is hardly becoming of sweetness. Beneath milk and honey, the divinity that lies pliantly between parted red lips, Atsumu truly sees who Hinata Shouyou is, beyond the neatly gilded mirage of serenity: a destructive triumvirate of the righteousness of men, the might of a beast, and the fury of an angry god. 

Atsumu vaguely recalls something he heard between the lamenting sighs of a plague-stricken land, a whisper that slips by death; ruination rides upon the wings of eastern winds.

"Look at you, so eager to pick a fight. What happened to your talk of temperance, modesty, and balance, dearest Glorybringer?"

Shouyou tilts his head in pretend innocence, batting his long lashes for emphasis. What a vile, vile god! "Well, won't you help me clean up our mess like you did last time, Miya-san?" Malice possesses Shouyou's voice—Atsumu swears he will hack it away. "Or perhaps, should I hold myself back, after all?"

“Cheeky brat.” Taming his boiling blood, Atsumu readies his sword again. “Don't you dare hold back.”

Flowers brush against Shouyou’s smiling, hellish eyes. Atsumu knows not whether he wants to pray in worship to Shouyou, to exult and kiss his sturdy hands that are cleansed by the waters of purity, yet destruction has become his very flesh—or to tear asunder Shouyou dearest, the most beautiful of damnations. “Ready whenever you are, Miya-san.” 

With a long sigh, the eastern wind turns its cheek away from a shattered battlefield, neverminding the full-bloom of the bloodiest rapture below its wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [ inawizawki (twitter)](https://twitter.com/inawizawki/status/1227119703325233152?s=20)'s amazing atsuhina granblue au! Thank you so much for letting me write this fic :D
> 
> Anyways fellas,, pick me as your new atsuhina mutual, therefore I humbly plug my [twitter](https://twitter.com/konism_) here haha ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this mini fic!


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